Never Talk To Strangers
by Musique et Amour
Summary: ON HAITUS UNTIL WRITERS BLOCK LIFTS Struggling to solve a particularly frustrating case, Christina Daniels comes across a series of murders unrelated to her current task. Ones that seem to call to her more than they should. Modern.
1. Chapter 1

_Welp, I said I'd be making another modern, this one with a bit of a twist to it. It's an idea I had before, and I further fleshed it out with some friends to see what they thought. Thanks to them and their ideas as well as encouragement, I'm posting this now._

_No worries, I'm not dropping the other fics, not in the least. Now that I have more time on my hands, I'll be trying to do more writing. Well, here's to hoping, anyway, heh._

_Hope you enjoy; feel free to criticize as I go on, but please be constructive. If the fic sucks, tell me why. Only way I can try to perfect my writing. _

_Last but not least; a preemptive thanks to my beta readers/editors/PR agents._

_

* * *

There was this girl  
Who lived not too long ago  
As a matter of fact I think  
She lives still  
She knew she could do no wrong  
Just singin' those songs  
That we all knew _

_She would always crash the party  
It was no surprise  
It was for her  
**Stone Temple Pilots, "Too Cool Queenie"**_

"Earth to Daniels. Come in, Daniels."

It took several tries for the voice to get through the haze of her concentration, but once it had she blinked and looked up from her report, frowning at the sight of the man within her office door. He chuckled deeply, leaning against the frame and crossed his arms over his chest. Glancing at the pile of papers upon her desk he lifted a dark brow, salt-dusted with age.

"Overtime?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Sighing she shook her head and closed the manilla folder with a shrug of her shoulders. "Even when I'm off it's overtime. What's up?"

He shook his head grinning as he stepped away from the door and approached her desk. She pulled a folder away quickly enough, sparing it from being further flattened beneath his backside as he made himself comfortable upon the edge. Curiously he flipped open one of the folders. "Your shift was over some time ago. Though it doesn't surprise me that you're still here. This really has you engrossed, doesn't it?" His brows drew downward as he turned a picture, inwardly grimacing at the gruesome sight that the photo presented. Even after thirty years on the force, his stomach still curdled at some of the crime scenes.

Resting back with a squeaking protest of her chair, she stretched slowly then kneaded her fingers along the back of her neck, looking at the picture he was studying. "Yeah. We've a few leads so far, but they're all coming up with alibis. I still have a feeling that it's her husband. Just have to find something..."

"Christina–"

"Oh, using my first name are we?" She grinned impishly. "That doesn't mean I'm in trouble, does it, boss?"

Closing the folder he chuckled, pressing the documents back to her, which she picked up and cradled close to her chest as if it were a long lost child. The woman had a love for her work, to say the least. "No, but you are off. Hint, hint. Go home, you look like you need the rest," he added, watching her rub her eyes slowly. She glanced over to the clock and blanched at the time._ Three am? Where do the hours go?_

"Yeah, you're right, Vincent–"

"Oh _ho_! Using my first name, are we? I'm not in trouble, am I?" He couldn't help but give that poke at her, and grinned broadly as he lifted from the desk taking am moment to straighten out his clothing. She scowled at him. "Ha. Ha. Ha. Anyway, I'll be out in a bit. Just going to clean up here."

"Alright. Oh, and Charlotte said she's going to give you a ride." Chuckling at her groan he shrugged. "I would, but you said my driving makes you motion sick."

"We it _does_," she conceded._ But even _that _is more of a blessing than riding with that incorrigible woman. _Breathing out a sigh she nodded to him and began collecting the various folders to neatly place into her satchel. "Car's going to be out of the shop soon enough," she said more to herself than to him, but he nodded anyway.

"Have a good night, Christina. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Night, Vincent. Drive safely." Smirking at him, she shook her head. _Him...drive safely? _That was like asking a shark not to go after a wounded seal. Tucking back her bangs from her face she pressed them behind her ear, knocking away the pencil she had forgotten was there. Collecting it from the floor and placing it back into the desk drawer, she looked over the work area, then slouched back in her chair again, stretching with a slow yawn.

"You ready yet? I'm _dying _to get home and out of these shoes."

Christina puffed out a breath in a grunt, and opened her eyes to look over to Charlotte. Employing a smile she nodded and unplugged her laptop to tuck it into its case, then picking it up as well as her satchel, she headed for the door, collecting her jacket on the way. Charlotte moved into the hall with an impatient sigh and Christina did all she could to simply ignore it as she locked her office door and started for the entrance.

"So is it true?" the tall woman murmured side-ward to her, and lifting a brow Christina spared her a glance.

"Is what true?"

"That Lopes is retiring," Charlotte countered, as if she expected her fellow employee to know all the rumors that tended to be going on. The two – Christina and Vincent – seemed to be close enough where he would confide such a thing to her; at least in this woman's mind. Christina only shrugged, not willing to participate within gossip that the other thrived off of. _This is going to be a long car ride._

Once they were outside in the crisp air Christina spoke up again, tugging on her jacket as they wandered over to the Nissen, it's lights blinking with the press of an alarm button. "You mind stopping at the market before you take me home? I have to pick up a few things for. Hot Pockets just aren't cutting it anymore."

"I guess."

_Well, that was easy, _Christina thought, pausing at the passengers side, waiting for the doors to be unlocked.

"I'm going to need gas money, though. These prices are _murder _lately and I _am _going out of my way to take you home."

_Thought too soon._ "Yeah, sure. I'll go to the ATM while I'm in there."

* * *

The ride was blissfully silent; if one ignored the off key country singing coming from the drivers side. Christina grinned and bore it, staring silently out of the window until they had reached the market. All too eagerly she climbed out of the car and headed inside, muttering something beneath her breath about dying crows. 

The light within the store was bright compared to the glooming darkness outside, and she was glad that, for once, she didn't have a headache. Those had been becoming more frequent since she started working on this case. So many holes and she was trying her best to fill them. Unlike some investigators in the firm she wasn't going to become disgruntled so easily.

Hooking a basket over her arm, she started through the store, purposely skipping over the Hot Pockets and Pop Tarts. _I'll turn into one of those things if I eat another. _Collecting a few Mama Valerius frozen pizzas, she smirked at herself, shaking her head. _As if these are any different from the Hot Pockets. _Shrugging she continued on, adding some canned vegetables, fruits, a half gallon of milk and bread into the basket.

Shifting its weight she started off to the check out counter, only to remember her one guilty staple. Turning about she wandered to the alcohol aisle to look over the selections, hoping that they had her favorite bottle. Slowing down as she came to the section she frowned, noting it empty. _Figures...Well, maybe it's just time to try something new? _Skimming her fingers over the labels she paused upon one and plucked it free, unprepared for the sudden voice behind her.

"_Brunello di Montalcino_, good choice."

"_Shit_!" Giving a start, she fumbled with the bottle in an attempt to catch it, only for it to go plummeting to the floor, shattering in a splash of deep red and glass. _Sonova... _Frowning deeply she cast a glance up and paused, staring into the most gorgeous hazel-gold eyes she had ever seen.

"...That was not supposed to happen."

It wasn't until he spoke did she notice something...off about his face. At first glance someone wouldn't pay it any mind, but upon closer inspection, he was wearing a flesh colored mask. One that covered from brow to jaw, leaving only his chin and lips exposed. Lips that curled into a slow smile.

"Perhaps I should start over?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Pale angel go away  
Come again some other day  
The devil has my ear today  
I'll never hear of what you say  
_**A Perfect Circle, "Weak And Powerless"**

She surely had to look the fool; a pool of claret spread about her tennis shoes, glass quivering to a stand still within the liquid, and she was standing there, half bent, her brows furrowed in confusion – a little shock as well – staring curiously at his mask. If it hadn't been for the soft clearing of his throat, her tired mind wouldn't have snapped out of it. Blinking once, she met his eyes, raising a brow.

"Huh? Oh...I uh," she stammered, trying to find the right thing to say, and inwardly scowled at his low laughter.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to startle you." The corner of his mouth lifted and he crouched down to begin picking up the shards of glass. "I do not make it a habit to sneak up on people, I assure you," he teased lightly and she looked down upon him, studying him quietly.

His gloves were the first thing she noticed; besides the mask of course. Her attention had always been drawn by a person's hands; they spoke a lot about that individual. His fingers were long and thin, matching his frame perfectly as they deftly, effortlessly, plucked one shard or another from the floor. She would almost guess that he was painter, musician, or maybe even a surgeon with the quiet grace of his wrist and fingers. Shoulder-length hair – so dark of an auburn that it was nearly black – rested over the cream of his silk shirt in a vivid contrast. He was a well dressed individual, clean cut and meticulous according to the fine creases in his shirt and dark trousers.

"You don't have to do that; the clerks can take care of it." Ending her observation, she shrugged and stepped back a foot or two to get rid of that uneasiness of having a stranger within her own personal bubble.

"Mm, you are right, of course. I was simply finding a reason to stick around for a few seconds longer." He had a light accent, though from where...she couldn't quite pin point. _Ugh, stop! You're not at work anymore. Stop profiling the poor guy. _This time it was her turn to clear her throat, but she did so a little guiltily, then easily regained her composure giving him a dubious glance.

"I should go get someone..." she began, then trailed off when a clerk began wheeling a mop bucket down the aisle. _Holy hell, they're fast. Then again, it is pretty empty this morning._

"Ah, yon Knight in Shining Bucket," he stated with a quiet grunt, pulling up to a stand. It was only then when she truly noticed how tall he was; a half a foot or so above her own height and she was a tall one at five-foot eight. Unable to keep her stoic resolve at his jesting manner, a soft smile passed over her lips, and she glanced to his hand as he reached for another bottle.

"How about I pay for this one, for startling you?" Though she couldn't see the lift of his brow, she could almost hear it within his voice, and she shook her head lightly, raising a hand to tuck a few strands behind her ear that were too short to be kept within her braid.

"Thanks, but no," she murmured, slipping her fingers beneath the bottle to take it from his leather clad hand. Tucking it into her basket, she glanced up to his face again, managing to keep from studying the mask more than she had already. _Burn victim, perhaps?_ Shaking her head she shrugged. "Don't worry about it..."

"Erik," he continued, providing her with his name.

"Erik," she parroted, nodding once, then absently began shifting a few things within her basket, simply keeping her hands busy for the moment. "Thank you again, Erik. I...have to go. Have a nice night." Without further comment she turned around and started off toward the check out stand.

There was only a moments silence before his voice lifted just loud enough for her to hear him. "I did not catch your name."

Unable to resist, she turned her head with a light smirk cast back toward him. "That's because I didn't throw it," she called in return, rounding the corner, this time grinning when she heard him chuckle a "_touché_". Exhaling a tired breath, becoming more exhausted by the minute, she approached the counter and placed the basket upon the edge of the conveyer belt. Unpacking her groceries, she snagged herself a Kit-Kat and added that to the pile.

"You know. We really have to stop meeting up like this."

At least this time she didn't flinch when his voice came up from behind her. Her long braid twitched against her back as she glanced over to him, moving closer to the cashier. Slipping her small wallet from her slacks she flipped it open, drawing out her ATM card and poised it over the swipe-slot. "Yes, we do." She almost immediately felt guilty of her lightly caustic tone and sighed heavily. "Sorry, I'm just very tired and I'm really not looking forward to the ride home."

"Ah, it is fine. Completely understandable." He shrugged, apparently unfazed by her brush off, then apology, as if he had gotten the same reaction time and time again. He began unpacking his own basket, immaculately placing the cans within rows and columns, then began with the boxes and finally the fragile items; bread, eggs and tomatoes. "Argument with a–"

He couldn't finish the question before Charlotte's voice rang over the gentle beeps coming from the register. "Christina! Are you done yet? I'm practically falling to sleep in the car!" Amused, Erik glanced over toward the loud-mouthed woman, then back to the woman who he knew now as Christina. Only a subtle chuckle was given as he watched her rub the bridge of her nose.

"No," she muttered, continuing: "A ride with an annoying bint." Swiping her card at the clerks indication, she glanced up to the young woman. "Twenty dollars over, please. In fives." Shifting her weight, unconsciously covering the tapping of her PIN into the system with her body, she tucked away the card as well as the wallet. Collecting her groceries once the bagger finished, she glanced over to Charlotte, then up to him with a soft smile. "Thanks again, by the way. Maybe next time I won't make a fool of myself."

"Next time?" His lips turned up in that smile he gave before, one she couldn't help but find almost cat like, yet...sensual. _A charmer, mm?_, she mused, looking toward Charlotte as he spoke again. "Planning on meeting again, I take it?"

"Don't get your hopes high, bub." Glancing back to him she cast him a wink then started off toward Charlotte, quite aware that he was watching her leave; she could almost feel the weight of his eyes upon her back. When they moved through the electric-sliding doors she glanced through the window long enough to note that his attention was upon the clerk. _Dear God, Christina. You weren't _flirting_, were you? _

As if she truly needed a relationship at this point and time in her life. Barely in her thirties, still somewhat young – or at least that's what she'd vehemently argue – she was at the height of her career and didn't need someone dragging her down with something like a love life. She was far too busy, and far too interested in her work. Though...it couldn't be denied that she did find interest within one person at her work place; which made him a definite "hands off". Business and pleasure just didn't mix well, at all.

"Took you long enough," the murmur from her side broke her thoughts and Christina rolled her eyes.

"Do you always have to be such a bitch?"

"Do you want to walk?" Charlotte countered, side glancing to her before she turned to the car and unlocked her door.

"Do you want your gas money?" Christina's retort came swiftly and she let a smile form on her lips that should have given her cavities. Though five dollars wasn't much, as high as gas prices were she knew that the woman would take every little penny she could. Charlotte gave no response, only closed her door and waited for Christina to climb in before the car was started and they were off again to their next destination.

This time the ride was completely silent save for the songs that 92.5 XTU was pumping out. Christina wasn't sure she could take any more of that woman's singing tonight without telling her to leave the Country music to the professionals.

* * *

She was more than pleased to finally get home. Leaving Charlotte with her money she started up the drive way of her house, practically sagging against the wrought iron door as she fumbled out her keys and unlocked it then the door behind it. Once inside, she carried her bags to the kitchen, unloading the items into the fridge and cabinets, then tucked the plastic bags away to use later. 

Starting to get a headache from how tight her braid was and how long it had been fastened within her hair, she began to loosen the dark blonde strands as she went upstairs, aching for a long hot shower. Inwardly she lamented that the tub was cracked. It was yet another thing on her list to get fixed. The house wasn't the best; a bit run down and in need of some fixing, but the mortgage was cheap, it was close to work and it was a place to live.

After her shower, she considered checking her e-mail, but the comfort of her bed was calling to her. Donning her usual night wear of a large T-shirt and boxers – she could never seem to sleep in anything too tight – she climbed into her bed, pulling her teddy bear beneath the sheets with her. She had outgrown the thing ages ago, but it was the one thing she couldn't get rid of from her childhood. Surprisingly it was still in shape, save for the once silky fur was kinky and knotted from being tossed in the dryer after a good washing.

Tucking the bear's head beneath her jaw she hugged the stuffed animal to her chest, exhaling a soft comfortable sigh. Inadvertently her mind traveled back to the supermarket and the appealing man she had met there. Once one got past the initial oddity of the mask, he didn't seem so bad. An incorrigible flirt, undoubtedly, but he appeared nice enough. Besides he had sparked her curiosity...and he had amazing eyes.

Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to see him again after all.


	3. Chapter 3

_Pushing on. Can't stop now.  
I relive. I remember. It sticks and it stays  
All this time spent alone recapping the days  
Pace myself - Push myself  
Pushing on - I'm all I've got  
_**No Warning, "Pushing On"**

Document after document, file after file, and still that brick wall remained that completely ceased progress. There was something missing within this case, something that Christina was sure she was overlooking. As much as she told herself that she needed rest and to start eating better, she hadn't been listening to her own suggestions. She was nearly on day three now of little food and less rest, unable to let the case go beyond her two week quota. Sometimes she set herself up for disappointment, but it's what made her work harder than most on the force. If it hadn't been for Vincent noticing this, she would have never made it as far as she did.

Safe to say there was one person that didn't like her progress in the least.

"Daniels, do you have that file yet? I've been waiting for a half hour."

Her own partner.

Sighing heavily, Christina tipped her head up, looking over the rim of her reading glasses, then pulling them off she placed them aside, rubbing her eyes slowly. She hated those things and dearly wished that her prescription contacts were ready. "What happened to your copies, Charlotte?" Arching her back, she folded her arms over her cardigan raising a brow at the woman that took up most of the doorway with her lofty height.

"I left them at home," Charlotte gave a slow shrug and took to studying the French manicure that she had gotten just that morning before crossing her arms along her stomach and raising a coppery brow expectantly. Staring at her for a good minute or two, Christina heaved another sigh then collected the paper work to haphazardly shove into a manilla folder. "I'm heading over to the Crypt Keepers..."

"Why?" was asked before the sentence was finished.

After three years of working with the woman, Christina was used to that, and she simply went on as if she hadn't been interrupted. "To find out some more information. Something just isn't right. It feels like...well, never mind. Probably just the lack of sleep." Collecting her jacket and shrugging it on, she unplugged her cell phone from the wall to tuck it into her inner pocket. Winding the cord she placed it inside her satchel and hefted the strap to her shoulder. Scooping up the folder, she approached Charlotte to hand the files over. Luckily she could just go off of her notes and the mental images of the pictures.

"They've already checked over the body twice. Don't you think they would have found something else by now?" One white-tipped nail tucked beneath the lip of the folder to flip it open while she started moving down the hallway with Christina on her heels, grimacing at the back of her head.

"Probably, but you know me. I like to run over things with a fine toothed comb, then do it ten more times before I'm satisfied."

Charlotte only shrugged, and Christina shook her head at the woman's humdrum attitude toward this case. A woman had been murdered – beaten and murdered – and her partner acted as if she had better things to do with her time...like get another manicure. _What happened with you, Charlotte? And why do I even care anymore? _She knew why without giving it too much thought; she was getting the mule load of the work. While any other time she would have been grateful for the task, moving into her new home and getting it fixed up was proving to be more work than even _she _could handle.

"So...are you coming or what?" _After all, we _are _a team. _While Charlotte paused at the elevator, poking the button with the pad of a finger, she continued on to the stairs nearby and glanced over her shoulder to the woman.

"I think I'll pass. Thanks anyway." When the elevator reached the floor, the doors opened with a soft ding and the woman stepped inside. Another button pressed and the doors closed again, sparing Christina from standing another minute in that woman's presence.

She frowned at the unfeeling metal, absently regarding her blurred reflection in its surface. "Fine," she murmured and turned around, beginning her descent into the bowels of the department. A few flights later and she was pressing her way through a set of doubled doors, pausing briefly at the window in the brightly illuminated hallway to sign in.

"Hey, Jim. Is Melissa in?" Filling out her name and badge number, she turned the clipboard and pressed it back beneath the slot in the plexiglass. In all her years of working here she never figured out the use of that. It wasn't as if someone would hold the person behind the glass at gun point while their assistants stole bodies from storage. Then again...it was hard to say what people would do any more.

"Yeah, I think she's in the examination room." The bulky guard didn't bother doing a double check of the information, Christina was a regular 'visitor' when it came to her cases. "You're clear, go ahead." Buzzing her in she gave a wave of thanks to him and continued down the hallway. After taking a sharp left she nudged open a door and let it swing closed behind her with a soft hiss.

Immediately the stench resembling acidic, stagnant water swept into her nostrils and she grimaced. No matter how many times she had been here it was a smell she just couldn't get used to. It always reminded her of the decline in human society.

"You should start renting a room here."

Glancing over to the lab door across the room she smiled as her friend wandered in. Small of stature with dark skin, hair and eyes, Melissa was almost Christina's complete opposite. Making a few marks upon a clipboard she was carrying about, she tucked the pencil behind her ear and laid the board upon a nearby table. "Let me guess, James?" Already Melissa was going over to the storage unit, pulling a roll-away behind her.

"Read my mind. Where's Chavez?" Laying her satchel upon the table near the board, she watched the other woman as she put on her gloves then prepared the body for examination. Skin that was once a creamy white now tinged purplish-blue with death, save for about her neck where an angry gash laid among virulent bruises. Christina frowned. Cecilia James hadn't reached her mid twenties before her life was cut drastically short.

"He's on dinner break. Should be coming back soon."

A light grimace passed over the detective's mouth. "I don't know how you two can stay in here all night and be able to even fathom _food_."

"It's a talent," another voice piped in with a soft chuckle afterwards. "Evenin' Christina." Passing her with a wink he collected a pair of latex gloves, casually ignoring the suggestive glance that Melissa passed between he and the detective.

"Evening, Raoul." Eyeing her female friend she made a 'cut it' gesture across her throat, only causing Melissa to snicker softly. "I was wondering if you two could go over the findings again. I'm going to record this time. Easier than keeping notes." Gathering the mini-recorder from her satchel she checked the tiny cassette then moved closer to the examination table.

Raoul lifted a brow, glancing beyond Christina to the double doors then back to her. "Where's Charlotte?"

"Don't ask," Christina murmured faintly, shaking her head. "She had better things to do."

"Yeah, I bet," this time it was Melissa muttering. The two of them carefully lifted the victim's shoulders from the body bag and folded the thick black material beneath before laying her down again. "You two used to be good friends..."

"Used to be. She's just...changed in the last year." Shrugging lightly, she motioned with the recorder laden hand, changing subjects. "Go ahead, don't mind me." Hitting the button, the wheels upon the cassette began steadily turning.

"Alright..." Raoul nodded, slipping a penlight from his shirt pocket and gave a glance to Melissa. "I have this. Do you think you can check on those reports that we worked on last night?"

"You mean the reports we checked over when we first came in?" The woman smirked, pulling her gloves off carefully and dropping them in the waste. "Sure. I'll be in the lab."

Grunting once, he shrugged lightly, then clicked on the penlight before leaning forward. While he had done this exam once or twice before, he always found it best to continue on as if he was working on a new 'patient'. He shined the light upon the woman's eyes, gently touching around the socket with the tip of a finger. Once again Christina found herself unnerved at how similar Cecilia's pale blue eyes were to her own.

"There's some petechiael hemorrhaging behind the eyes, suggesting that there was some sort of strangulation." Passing the light down, he brushed his thumb against the front of her throat, right above the wound. "Broken hyoid bone." He then moved to the corner of the wound as he looked upon the rest of her neck.

"By the excoriation upon the skin," this mentioned as he motioned to the friction burn like abrasions. "It appears the assailant was wearing gloves. Finger span is difficult to determine, the bruising is far too extensive."

"And there were no other marks of struggling," she interrupted. Already knowing the answer, the question was simply given for recording purposes.

He glanced up to her briefly, then moved further down the body to turn the nearest arm slightly. "Not with her hands tied. See here...?" He gestured to the crossing, darker purple lines. "She was bound with something thin; wire, fishing line... Clothing line is too thick. Whatever it was, it cut into her skin."

Christina nodded, motioning him to continue.

Moving back up to the victim's throat, he passed the beam of light across the wound and untucked a slender pick from his pocket to be able to peel back the layers of skin and muscle. "The blade transected the jugular vein and both carotids, entering into the left with little collateral bruising to the skin." He paused a beat, frowning. "What I can tell, anyway. What's curious about this wound is that...where most would be shallow at the apex this one goes deeper."

"Yes, the blade shape. You said it was..."

"Curved," the both of them stated together, then Raoul went on: "Right. As if the back of the blade was used. If it was a straight blade, there would be more tearing at the edges. It almost seems ritualistic. By the spray pattern the attack was from behind. The fibers we found in her throat..."

"Whoa, what?" Christina jerked her head up, looking at him curiously. "What fibers?"

"We found some green fibers within the wound; carpet." Clicking off the light he slowly lifted a brow and tucked the light back into his pocket. "Charlotte...didn't tell you, did she?"

_Why that little...mmf!_ "No... She didn't mention anything to me about fibers."

"_Hijo de puta,_" groaning faintly, he placed the pick upon the table and removed his gloves then went off to the lab to find the paperwork that she needed. Once it was collected he returned to her, handing them over. "Here. I figured it would 'slip her mind' with how spaced she was during the examination the other night. I would have gotten to it you earlier, but... you know the hours us Keepers have, heh."

"I do... Thanks, Raoul. I can't believe..." Exhaling a heavy breath she shook her head, shutting off the recorder and returned it to her satchel along with the folder. "I'm going to go. I have to read these and catch up."

"Christina?"

Glancing over her shoulder she watched him as he opened his mouth to say something, only to close it again, then begin again with a smile across his lips. "You going to Vincent's retirement party tomorrow?"

"I don't know. I really don't. It's a big 'maybe'. Why?" Pulling the satchel over her shoulder she turned to face him.

He shrugged. "Just wondering."

"Right. Well...I'll see you later. Tell Mel I'll catch up with her. Night Raoul." Without much pause she turned around and made her way out of the room, leaving him watching the steady back and forth swing of the doors.

"Yeah...night," he grunted to empty air then started back to the lab, inwardly kicking himself for not saying what he wanted to.

Meanwhile, Christina was doing the same.

* * *

_**Side note:** Probably don't matter much, but since most PoTO readers pronounce Raoul like "Rawl" this version is "Ra-ool". Yup, Hispanic!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Thought he had it all  
__before they called his bluff  
__Found out that his skin  
__just wasn't thick enough  
__Wanted to go back  
__to how it was before  
_**NIN, "I'm Looking Forward To Joining You, Finally"**

The folder struck the desk hard enough to send papers flying, uselessly fluttering to the floor and hands were soon to follow before lithe frame leaned forward, ice-blue eyes narrowing into thin slits. Focused. If it was possible for her to growl she would have undoubtedly began to do so.

"Problem?" Though the tone was dubious, it was also laced with ill concealed sarcasm. Charlotte didn't bother looking up at the irate woman upon the other side of her desk. Her well manicured fingers continued their tapping along the keys of the computer as she typed up an e-mail – upon company time, no less.

"What the _hell _is _your _problem?" She couldn't growl, but Christina's words were very near to being a confrontational snarl. "We're supposed to be partners, and you're keeping pertinent information from me? Jesus _Christ_, Charlotte." Throwing up her hands in exasperation she pressed her fingers through her hair, forgetting for a moment that it was bound back in a braid, then dropped her hand at her side.

"Look. We're _supposed _to be a team, all right? All this competition bull _isn't _going to get us anywhere, _especially _when dealing with this case. I don't know what your problem is with me, but now you're making it interfere with your job – _our _job. Are we going to talk this out like mature adults, or are you going to continue treating me like I'm not privy to know what stick has been shoved up your tail pipe?"

A minute passed by, then a second before Charlotte was finished with her e-mail, and after sending it off, he regarded Christina with a condescending smile. "Nice speech. You really ought to write something like that down. Could come in handy one day."

Christina pressed her lips thin, then nodded slowly. "Okay. Well. I tried. Don't be surprised if you get suspended or, more deserving, fired."

"Fired?" One coppery brow darted up. Christina had her attention now. "On what grounds?"

Raising a hand from her side her index went up. "Misconduct." Then the middle followed, straightening next to the first. "Withholding information." And a third. "Obstruction of justice. Shall I go on?"

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," was the cool response Christina gave before snatching up the files and storming out of the office. She couldn't believe all of this was happening. A person that used to be her friend, her partner, was now treating her like some newbie on the force that didn't deserve the time of day. Swallowing a knot within her throat, she fought against the weakening urge to cry; all of the stress was becoming too much.

Taking a few deep breaths and strengthening her spine, she continued her path to the forensics lab and knocked upon the door. Moments later she was introduced to a pair of deep brown eyes and a worried frown. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Raoul," she responded, bringing a Barbie Doll smile to her lips. "Can you come with me? I have a warrant to check out James again and I need you there to help me check out some stuff."

"Yeah. Sure. Um..let me get my things."

* * *

She didn't know what she was more annoyed about; the unusual heat that poured over the city, or the fact that she had to drive all the way across it just to get to where Aaron James – husband of the murdered Cecilia – was located. 

He was told to remain around his home in case he was brought in for questioning, but with how his attitude had been during this whole investigation, it didn't surprise Christina any that he had gone to visit his sister. He had been more than willing to allow questioning, as well as the search of his house, but his sarcasm was difficult to handle. It was one reason why she was hoping to bust him as guilty. Petty, perhaps, but as the way things were going, she was anxious to jump on the first signs of guilt.

She had been silent during the whole trip, and as if sensing her anxiety Raoul managed to keep his desire for conversation at bay. Only now and again he glanced to her from the corner of his eyes, wondering what was going through her mind as she focused solely upon the road before her; her face knit in a grim frown, and fingers curled tight against the wheel.

The tension was so thick it was almost stifling.

When they had finally gotten there, they went to the back of her car, opening up the trunk to collect Raoul's things from it. Tucking a pair of packaged latex gloves into her pocket, just in case they came across the need to investigate the grounds. She wasn't looking forward to this, regardless of her desire to find out just who had killed the young woman. She could feel the closing of the case coming just around the bend, a sensation that never failed her.

Approaching the door she glanced back toward Raoul who was looking across the yard, studying the area with some interest. Watching him quietly a hint of a smile crossed her lips, the first one since she had heard the news of the fibers last night. Hearing the door open, she turned around to glance back to the house.

"Well, well. And here I thought I wouldn't be seeing your pretty face for a while, Detective."

Christina gave a dry, thin smile and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, glancing past his shoulder then returning her eyes to his face. "We've a few things to ask you, Mr. James. May we come in?"

"But of course. Do you have a war–" He cut off his words as she lifted the folded yellow paper, and giving a mirthless chuckle he moved aside, letting her in with Raoul trailing on her heels.

The questions were routine; she wanted to make sure that he gave the same answers as before and that nothing in his story had changed, not even the smallest detail. As much as she wanted to have her tape recorder going, it was against policy, and though she wanted to get this case solved, she wasn't going to cut corners to do so.

"We'll need to search the house, Mr. James. So if you don't mind..."

"This is my sisters house," he countered swiftly, suddenly seeming disgruntled.

Christina picked on that immediately, and shrugged lightly, keeping her voice even: "We have a warrant, Mr. James. We can always take you in for noncompliance and search anyway."

Not bothering to conceal the glare directed toward her, knowing she was right, he had them wait while he went to speak to his sister. Raoul didn't agree with letting him go talk to her, but with the man in sight there wasn't much he could do; besides, he wasn't the detective here and he had to trust Christina's judgement. When they were finally allowed to roam around the house, they separated so they'd be able to cover more ground. With the small family outside, their progress was unbarred.

The carpet was the first thing that had gotten Christina's attention. A dull teal green that had plenty of wear from the traffic that roamed through the house, and she spoke a moment with Raoul to see if he thought it might have been the same one. A sample was collected to be tested later. Coming across a locked door Raoul called for his pseudo-partner, informing her of this discovery, then she headed out to get the key for the room.

Followed back into the house by it's owner, Aaron's sister, she went to look for the keys to the room, then returned with them dangling from her fingertips. "I keep this room locked to ensure the kids won't go in. I don't want them to get hurt," she informed the two who patiently waited for the door to be opened. Standing aside and clasping the keys in her hand again, the woman watched Christina and Raoul enter the room, only to stop dead in their tracks.

It couldn't be that simple; before them laid the decorative room, filled with medieval and Renaissance weaponry, armor and clothing. It almost looked as if they had walked into a faire booth. A glance was passed between the two before they started curiously looking over the things, their attention immediately going to the weaponry, especially a particular set of kriss blades that caught their attention. Elegant and wavy, Raoul concluded that this type of blade wasn't the same that caused the odd slice across the victim's neck, but he tested them anyway, checking with a combination of chemicals to see if it the blades came up positive on blood spotting.

Unsatisfied with the results, Raoul checked over every single blade he could find within that room. It wasn't until nearly a half hour later did the swab turn a virulent copper red.

"Christina..."

Raising her head and looking away from a Celtic, bone handled dagger, she glanced over to Raoul, every hair standing on end as she regarded the crescent curved blade in his fingers that had been buried within the depths of a box filled with half finished clothing.

"I found Waldo."

* * *

The arrest hadn't gone as smoothly as they would have liked, though the back up that had been called before they wandered outside assisted in that endeavor. With the knife taken in it was to be catalogued, tested and dusted for prints, to ensure that it had been the suspect they had taken into custody. 

Where the ride to the home had been silent, the one back to the station was another story all together. Life had returned to Christina, and Raoul couldn't help but notice that it seemed as if she was feeling much better, though there was still something there that was bothering her. During their conversation he mentioned the party again, wondering if she could make it for the evening, hesitating again when it came to asking her to go with him.

"I'm sorry, Raoul. But I have to get some rest. I've been stressing myself to death over this and...well. Other things combined just have me exhausted. How about I take a rain check? When the new Captain retires, I'll go to the party, deal?" She grinned over to him and he smiled in return then glanced out of the window, watching the traffic go by.

Once they had gotten back to the building, they went their separate ways with Christina seeking out the fresh face in charge. She found him within his office, hanging up a few photos which, amusingly enough, were of animals instead of family or friends.

He was a lean man, though broad shouldered, clean cut with just a small smattering of gray at his temples. If she had to guess an age she would think by his features alone that he was just a little older than herself. Raising a hand she knocked lightly upon the door's frame, not wanting to startle him out of his photo-hanging trance.

"Mr. Barone?"

Placing down a photo and glancing over his shoulder, a broad smile crossed over the man's face and he motioned her inside. Taking the invitation she stepped further into the office, her hands tucked behind her, loosely held. Unconsciously she clicked the tips of her thumb and middle finger's nail together. "There was an arrest made today on the James case. I was wondering when you'd like the paper work done. I know Mr. Lopes preferred by the next day."

Scratching his jaw he thought quietly, then nodded. "That's fine. You can bring it in tomorrow." Softly laughing he grinned to her. "Besides, it looks as if you could use the rest. Miss..."

"Daniels, Sir. Christina Daniels."

"Ah, I heard about you. Lopes had plenty to say concerning you and your work around here." There was no denying the intrigue within his voice. Vincent made sure to supply him with the names of those that did their job, and ones that could prove to be a problem. It was the least he could do to ensure that Peter started off with some idea of what he was working with instead of jumping unawares into a tank of piranha.

Christina smiled quietly, then shook her head with a shrug. "Just doing my job, Sir. As cliche as it sounds."

"Well, cliche or not, keep it up. Good job on the arrest, Daniels."

Taking that as her dismissal, after all it appeared the man had plenty of boxes to empty out, no doubt filled with files, she turned around and approached the door again. Stepping out she started to close it, but paused, frowning while staring out thoughtfully to the white-washed wall. A dampening of her upper lip and she stepped back into the office, gently closing the door behind her.

"Mr. Barone? If...you have a moment, I'd like to speak to you about something."

Curiously he nodded, then lowered within his desk chair with a light, protesting squeak of leather. Politely he motioned to the chair upon the other side of the desk, but she gave a soft shake of her head. Lowering his hand again, he draped his arm across his stomach. "I'm all ears. What's this about?"

Pulling in a slow breath and closing her eyes to strengthen her nerves, she breathed out a sigh and returned her gaze to him with a frown lacing her brow.

"My partner..."


	5. Chapter 5

_I know, I know. I mentioned that the updates were going to be bi-weekly, or so, and I skipped one. Been ill. Y'all got two chapters in two weeks earlier, so the skip was covered! Heh. _

_Anyway, special thanks to my beta for putting up with the extremely raw version of this chapter, to my friend for assisting with the report, to a patient CBS 3 newscaster for answering my questions, and most of all, to my readers that were patient enough to wait through my sickness._

_

* * *

Dead man breathing, just taking up space  
Calloused and weathered like the lines on one's face  
Dead man breathing, my conscience is bare  
The lining of my soul is torn yet I no longer care  
_**Zakk Wylde & Black Label Society, "Just Killin' Time"**

If there was one thing I hate more than headaches, it is having one and finding nothing to take for it.

To make matters worse, it is one of those types that feels like something is digging out from inside of my skull with cold, yet burning claws; scraping, scraping...and _scraping_. I thought I had gotten rid of it yesterday, but apparently that is not the case. _Damn it._ I knew I had forgotten to pick up pain killers. Yet, still, I rummage through the house, hoping to find anything that could get rid of the maddening ache.

As ironic as the thought is, it has to be this city; loud, smoggy, busy... Why do I find it ironic? Because I have lived in larger cities, ones that can drive a person crazy with its lack of silence. Strangely, I enjoyed those cities more. The more people, the less someone would focus on the individual with the unique appearance. In my case, a flesh colored mask. Not many people notice it immediately, but when they do...well, it became a matter of a staring contest then.

I _always _win.

I search from top to bottom and still I find nothing. If it was possible I might have attempted to turn the building over as well. While I would not have found something for the headache, it would have been a nice dose of exercise.

Just whatam I still doing in Philadelphia anyway? After my assignment I have no reason to be here, and it was my habit to leave a city before the body grew cold. This is not the first time I stuck around, no. Nor do I think it will be the last. There is usually some reason that makes me remain for a few weeks, or months, more. Perhaps it is because of the hospital I have driven by now and again.

Out of all the other things to see here; the Edgar Allan Poe house, Independence Hall, and The Liberty Bell – all of which are ironically more interesting to me than the Colosseum in Rome – it is a medical institution that grasps my attention more. Why? It is said that the Pennsylvania Hospital excels in craniofacial surgery.

The fact that I even _think _about such a thing was surely laughable.

I have lived this way all my life, and I should not have plans to change that now, even if I did have the money to throw into the endeavor. Besides, I have become quite partial to the feel of the mask.

The sound of the kettle's whistle draws me from my rambling thoughts, as well as my attention from the steady thrumming at my right temple, and fetching myself a mug from the cabinet, I prepare the tea, breathing in the sharp, yet subtle scent of the peppermint. This is my last resort in dealing with this annoying pain. Well...this or suitably knocking myself unconscious, though that will place quite a damper upon the rest of my day, and it is not truly guaranteed that the pain would be gone.

The steady clicking of the spoon brings a soft flinch to the corner of my eyes, and I try to mix the honey and tea without the sound as best I can, though it is proving to be most difficult. Instead, I turn my focus to the droning of the small TV in the background. Some newscast is on, CBS I believe, detailing the weather that was unusually warm for this time of year.

The news is the only thing I seem to watch anymore. I learned early on that it is best to keep track of reports, no matter how mundane they might seem. The smallest detail can be useful... Besides, I had become tired of watching movies when they started putting the annoying lyrics of "We Will Rock You" in the Medieval era.

Reclining into the couch, I pick up the remote and begin flipping through the channels, hoping to catch something worth listening to besides the further detailing of the weather and the sports scores that were to follow. I begin to believe that my search will be quite unsuccessful until a familiar face flashes across the screen, soon replaced by some cartoon image.

Flipping back a channel I shift my weight upon the couch's cushions, tipping the mug to my lips, drinking down the sweet concoction. The face was already gone, but I wait to see if it will return.

"The city's new Police Captain, Peter Barone, has reason to be proud of himself and his team," the tall blonde, with a smile plastered over her face, begins. A little blue bar with her name superimposed over it fades into view, partly concealing her navy blouse.

"Taking over for the recently retired Captain, Vincent Lopes, Barone comes into a force that's had a successful run with one of the highest annual success rates of solved homicides in nearly thirty years." This is not anything new for me. I had read about the recent change in percentiles when it came to the status of crime in this area. I had also read about this case a week or two ago. My eyes flick over the screen, searching beyond the woman's head for another sight.

I am soon rewarded.

The camera swings from the reporter to another, and I lower the mug, my eyes narrowing in immediate recognition. No longer is she wearing the casual clothing I had seen her in during that trip to the market. Her hair is still swept back in a tight tail, though it falls loose in dark blonde waves instead of a woven braid. "The newest bit of justice being doled out is thanks to their 'secret weapon', Christina Daniels; a thirty-two year old California native and homicide detective who solidified a first-degree murder case against Aaron James in the murder of his wife, Cecelia James."

I amglad that I had not been drinking, for I would have surely choked upon my tea in laughter. That woman, a detective? Not only a detective, but one that has been overly successful in her job? Her regard of me had not gone unnoticed. The way her eyes had traveled over me was not in physical interest – her posture was far too closed for there to be any – but it was as if she were sizing me up. She smiles faintly into the camera's path and I tilt my head slightly.

"Mrs. James was believed to have been murdered by an intruder, but when Daniels and her team did extensive investigating, minute details discovered by the observant young detective led the guilt straight to the victim's husband's door step. When confronted with the evidence, James had no choice but to plead guilty to the gruesome death." The camera moves from her then, and I could have sworn that she released a puff of breath just before she turned away to speak with a tall, dark haired man; the Captain that was previously mentioned.

Bringing the mug to my lips once more, I let the mingling flavors rest upon my tongue before I swallow, suddenly noticing that my headache had finally decided to take its leave. The observation does not last for very long as the reporter continues. "This is Daniels' sixteenth successfully solved case this year, a rate not previously met by any other homicide detective in recent years. Barone certainly has reason to be pleased: with Christina Daniels in the field, along with her fellow employees, crime rates are sure to drop significantly."

"Thank you, Victoria," a masculine voice takes over as the screen again flickered to another face, and I turn down the volume then place the remote upon the coffee table. My long legs stretch over the length of the couch, sock-covered heels brushing against the arm at the other end, and cradling the mug between my hands I look down into the dark surface, a subtle smirk upon my lips.

I had heard about that case a week or two ago, and from what had been said it was a trying one. To think, I had been speaking with one of the "top detectives" of this city, and she had not the foggiest idea of who I was. Why would she know, anyway? I have not made a mark within this city, never mind the accomplished task. That particular "mark" would not be seen or heard of for some time.

_Sixteen cases._ While that might seem mediocre in some circles, this was a large city where such activities would be easily concealed, unless one is dealing with a fool, of course. I am hardly a fool. For a moment an amusing thought strikes my mind and I bring my mug to my lips again, only to pause before drinking.

Just how smart is this woman? Had it simply been a wild string of luck that she had successfully completed her cases? And how would she do with one where luck would not prove to be a factor, but intelligence? I laugh softly, shaking my head. Why would I even come to think of such an idea? I knew why...

All of this is becoming _too_ easy, and it is boring the _living hell_ out of me.

I need a challenge, needed someone to sit up and take notice just to get the drug like flow of adrenaline through my veins. How I did miss that sensation; the utter rush of the hunt, stalking, learning, and being so close that I could feel my fingers twitch in anticipation, only to let the game be drawn out longer. The challenge was gone, the people have become foolish and the authorities uncaring.

But her...she appears to take pride in her cases. Though it had been but one meeting between us, I can imagine that she had just come from the office, exhausted and worn, ready to rest the moment she got home. Did she stay up to find more information on the James case, pouring over reports and evidence until the answer came to her? Would she chase leads to the ends of the world if she must?

Would she chase _me_?

And most of all...would she find and catch me?

Suddenly the thought I found laughable lingers upon my mind, refusing to let go, digging in with determined claws that rivals those of the prior pain. I have to know how passionate she can become with her work. How determined and driven to do right by the justice system. _You are being a fool to put yourself on the line for a thrill, Erik. _Feh. I am a fool to be drawn into my first contract, yet here I am, many years later, and still taking pride in my own work, regardless of the near-torpor I had faced when hunting.

Finding no more desire to watch, or even listen to, the television, I strike the button on the remote, shutting off the cathode tube with a crackle of static upon its surface. Placing the mug aside I stand, looking upon the now drab gray surface of the screen, and slowly smile beneath the flesh colored lip of my mask. Already my mind begins formulating plans, steps to take, though this time I am the mouse in this particular chase.

I had not bothered to think of the fact that there could be a chance that she would solve the case, if she gained the case at all, something I was going to ensure she did. I knew she would not succeed, not unless I allowed her to. There is no chance of that happening; as far as I am concerned, she needs a break from her winning streak with a loss, perhaps that would make sure she continues with her efforts. Or perhaps that will crack her spirit.

Do I care? No. How she takes her loss is none of my concern.

Leaving the living room, I enter my own sleeping area and pull my gunmetal briefcase from beneath my bed. Flipping the latches with a click, I open it up and look over the compartment until my eye catches upon the titanium sheen of my phone. There are some calls to be made, and I have no intentions of using the phone within the kitchen; it simply is not secure enough for my paranoid tastes.

I needed equipment, plenty of it, but most of all I needed to find out more about Christina before I would make my first move to attract her notice. Like dangling a piece of string before a feline.I can alreadyfeel what I had thought faded long ago as I flip open the phone and start dialing a familiar number. While I listen to it ring, I close my eyes, imagining the various pieces that would be placed upon the board, and removed with equal vigor.

"Hello?" a groggy voice comes from the other end of the phone.

"Pack your things," I utter sharply enough to catch his attention, "you are taking a trip."

_Let the game begin._


	6. Chapter 6

_Happy holidays and new year! Yup, a little late but eh... Better late than never. Now that all this holiday stuff is over with, and I'm notbeing bogged down with traveling and such,I'm expecting to update more often. Thank you all for your patience and your encouragement.

* * *

Like any uncharted territory  
I must seem greatly intriguing  
You speak of my love like  
You have experienced love like mine before  
But this is not allowed  
You're uninvited  
An unfortunate slight.  
**Alanis Morissette, "Uninvited"** _

After the solving of the James case, everything seemed to taper down to a slow crawl.

A very dull, slow crawl.

It wasn't only Christina that wished another difficult case, but those in the precinct jumped at every one that crossed the threshold, only to find disappointment in the fact that it was droll compared to what she had solved; drug arrests, homicides where the suspect was still in the area, and assault charges that didn't truly need the hand of the investigators. There was perhaps only one thing that could be deemed excitable in the weeks that followed:

"What the _hell _were you thinking!"

Charlotte had found out she had been dutifully removed from her position and placed into a new one as Robert Chang's partner. Being a partner to a rookie was perhaps the greatest insult to her. That meant _she_ had to do all the work.

This time it was Christina's turn to give the irate woman a bored look as she paused in typing up a weapons report. As much as she had hated to break up the partnership, one that used to be blissful but only turned sour as years passed, it had to be done. The woman was simply weighing her down by not going through the proper methods, and actually _assist _her in solving a case instead of barring her at every turn.

She was silently amused by the irony of the words directed at her, and while it might have glinted in azure-hued eyes, she didn't verbally note it. Instead, she simply replied in a cordial tone, pushing aside the urge to say 'Problem?' "I believe it's _quite _obvious what I'm thinking. I requested a new partner because it seemed we were having differences."

"Then why didn't he stick _you _with the rookie?" Charlotte nearly snarled, her mauve painted lips were pulled back readily enough.

"Because I _also _asked to do a few cases alone. It's not unheard of to be independent, Charlotte. Besides, think of this as an educating experience for both you and Chang. I'm sure he would be honored to have an established detective on his side; to learn from and all." Lifting a hand she gave a wayward gesture, then dropped her fingers back to the keyboard of her laptop. The silence laid heavily between them, broken only by the clicking of the keys as she returned to her report. She wanted to glance up and perhaps see the regret sketched upon her former partner's face, but knew all she would find was scorn.

"_Fine_." Charlotte finally broke the silence with that single word, and Christina glanced up at her, rather surprised to see a smile on the woman's lips instead of an irritated twist. "Good luck, Daniels," she stated before she turned around and left. Pushing back a curled lock from her face that was too short to be bound with the rest of her hair, she quietly watched Charlotte as she continued to the Captain's office.

_Perhaps she's going to agree to work with Chang, _she thought to herself, her brows furrowing inward. She then snorted, shaking her head. _Yeah, and perhaps I'm the Queen of England._

* * *

The change in the weather couldn't have been any less welcomed. Already the others were chomping at the bit, but now that the weather had grown colder, it was only subsequent that the crime rate would drop significantly. There were taunting hints of snow in the blistering air of Philadelphia, but it stayed just warm enough to keep it from falling. Regardless of the uncompromising weather, Christina had promised her friend that they would go out to lunch. 

Or, in this case, a late dinner.

With her nocturnal schedule, everything was flipped around compared to a 'normal' person's. Since she wasn't going in to check upon a body, she didn't have to sign the lab sheet before she continued down the white-washed hall, the heels of her boots ringing hollowly against the tiled floor. Sliding a gloved hand against the door, she pushed it open and was just about to speak, though her mouth snapped shut. It appeared as if the trio within were a little busy. Letting the door swing closed behind her she stepped off to the side, smiling at the glances from Raoul and Melissa, then offering a fainter one to the stranger that was standing next to the dark skinned woman.

"You were right about your dead swimmer, Gray. She didn't drown." Raoul tapped a finger upon the silvered tray a blue-skinned cadaver rested upon, her body modestly covered with an equally blue sheet. With some interest, Christina stretched her torso and lifted her chin to get a better look. "Cause of death was a culpable fracture of the neck. Probably from a blow to the head. Cerebral contusions beneath the skull fracture indicates a savage hit."

"What about the time of death," Melissa questioned, stepping away from the table to remove her gloves. She gave Christina a 'one second' gesture and glanced over to Raoul as he shrugged.

"Gastric lumen contained dark, pasty material; maybe slightly digested meat, stringy vegetable matter. Emptying rates vary from person to person, but I estimate that she ate two to four hours before death." He reached over, lifting a bag of brownish-gold contents and Christina felt her own stomach turn. She didn't know how they could tolerate looking over dead bodies all day and the things that came from them, and for those reasons alone, she respected the Keepers.

Raoul hid a smile at Christina's obvious discomfort as he glanced over to her, and after muttering an 'excuse me' – one that was on the verge of being filled with laughter – he placed the bag aside again. "What of the kit?" This time it was the unknown one that spoke, and the detective turned her attention to him. He appeared young from what she could see of him, his ink black hair only making his skin appear more pasty, and his voice sounded a little under-confident; the slight hunch of his shoulders added to that effect. She couldn't tell much more about him, not with his back toward her, but she was sure she'd find out more later.

"Hey, you all set?" Melissa adjusted the strap of her overly large purse – which her mother always called a 'mini-suitcase' – and tucked her hands into her winter coat as she stepped over to where Christina was standing. Nodding in response, the door was opened and held for Melissa before she answered. "That I am. Chinese today, or would you rather pass after seeing stringy vegetables and slightly digested meat?"

"Ha, ha, ha. Very funny. Unlike you, Detective Daniels, I can look upon a cadaver that's turned into soupy soap-wax and be able to eat linguine moments later." Giving a wave to the security as they passed him, she glanced over to her friend, who was looking green around the gills.

"Ugh. Okay, well ... there goes the idea for Chinese. How about just a trip to the café, eh? Maybe I won't get sick over a bagel. And _do not_ go into something that appears like cream cheese. I'll have to hurt you."

Unable to hold it back any longer, Melissa laughed the whole way to the car.

* * *

"No ... she ... _didn't_." Staring over her steaming mug in disbelief, Melissa lifted a brow as the woman across from her broke down into a fit of chuckles, nodding as she lacked the air, and composure, for proper speech. Finally, after several deep breaths, she continued. 

"She _did_. She didn't like having to work with a rookie, and so she complained to the Captain so much that I think he finally just stuck her with someone else. Chang may be working with Jacobson by next month. Imagine her surprise when the kid turned out to be a sponge. I bet she'sgoing tomiss out on leeching," muttering the latter sentence beneath her breath, she brought her cocoa to her lips, careful not to end up with whipped cream on the tip of her nose.

"Speaking of rookies, who's the newbie? Looks like he should fit in with you two well enough." Placing the mug aside, she pulled over the small plate topped by the remaining half of her bagel. Cutting off a portion of the cream cheese she spread it over the toasted bread then glanced over the café as she took a bite, savoring the flavor of the spread, even if it was plain.

"That's Willard." She paused at Christina's look and chuckled. "Yes, Willard. He came in from L.A. a few weeks back. A little creepy, but eh...I've seen worse. He's nice enough, though. He seems to know you."

Pausing in another bite, blue eyes lifted to brown, and her brows furrowed. "Oh?"

"Well, he knows _of_ you. How couldn't he when that ugly mug of yours was broadcasted?" Melissa grinned at her friend, batting away the napkin that was tossed in her direction.

"Willard...who in their right mind would name their child Willard?" She chuckled faintly and took a sip from her cocoa. Simultaneously they glanced up as their waiter came by, offering to fill Melissa's mug, and at the obvious checking-out that she gave the young man as he left, Christina shook her head.

"What? He's cute." Shrugging lightly, she added creamer and sugar to her coffee. Plenty of sugar. Sometimes Christina wondered why she bothered getting coffee if all she wanted to do was kill the taste with plenty of additions.

"You are too old to be ogling guys."

"Oh this coming from Miss Met-A-Stranger-With-Gorgeous-Eyes." Smirking at Christina, who scowled to cover the embarrassed flushed that wanted to cover her cheeks, she finished turning her coffee to syrup and finally took a sip. Before adding more sugar.

"You're making it sound like I gushed. I've just never seen someone with his color eyes, is all. Hazel, yeah, but it was more of a gold..." she paused, lifting a brow at Melissa who was grinning like a jackal. "...What?"

"You're doing it again."

Another napkin came flying her way.

* * *

As enjoyable as their break was, it wasn't long enough. An hour later Christina drove them back to the station, and once they were inside, they had taken to their own separate ways. The detective traveled several floors up while Melissa went one down. 

Pushing open the doors Melissa was pleased to see that the new guy was already cleaning up after their last body, preparing for the next; another 'mystery death' that would probably be solved too easily.

"Glover," she stated, catching the younger man's attention, and he looked over to her with eyes as dark as his hair; beady ones that reminded her of a rat. And the shape of his nose didn't stray her away from that mental image, either.

"Go ahead and take your break."

"Sure thing, Gray. Thanks." He offered her a warm smile that destroyed prior thoughts of rodents, and she smiled in return before moving into the computer lab to place her jacket over her chair. Raoul wasn't too far away, squinting at a set of fingerprints to see if they matched properly. He always insisted using his eyes before the computer. More than half the time the matches were correct.

"Glover's taking his break. Whatcha got there?" Cleaning close, she swept a few plaits over her ear, tucking them in with the others. He glanced up at her, then returned his eyes to the bright green prints. He drug down a set from the top row, replacing the one in the main observation box before looking at them again. At the obvious lack of a match, he tried again.

"A partial was found on the victim's watch. Came up with several ones that may match, and I'm just playing puzzle. Starting to get a headache so that means..." Clicking a button, he let the computer sort them out, going through each set before it would come up with one. While it calculated, he glanced up at her. "How was your break?"

"You mean how is _Christina_," Melissa stated pointedly, grinning as he eyed her then relented with a light shrug. He said nothing, and she continued while tapping the screen, pointing at one of the three the computer had sorted. "She's fine. Had some problems with Charlotte, but I'm sure you know about that already."

"Yup," he lied, truly not interested in what that woman was up to. After her little 'slip up' weeks back his opinion of her had dropped more than it was already.

"Why don't you _talk _to her, Raoul. Didn't you two go to the Captain's retirement party?" Pulling over her chair she lowered within it and sighed, kicking off her shoes beneath the desk. Though she had just got back from her break, she still had been on her feet all night.

"I did. She decided to get some rest. After the case I can understand. That one was a killer." He paused, adding: "No pun intended." Typing in the information upon the computer he looked over it, then penciled in his findings upon his clip board.

"You have to be more assertive, that's what it is. You're too much of a push over. A bit ironic for a little rich boy." She grinned jestingly at him and he poked her in the side with the pencil's eraser. "Better than me being a vain bastard, eh?" She nodded in agreement and crossed her arms over her stomach, drawing silent as she watched him work.

Truly, she couldn't see why Christina _wasn't _attracted to the man. Money aside, he had a wonderful personality, and he wasn't bad looking in the least. His features were a delicate mix of his mother's Italian heritage and his father's Spanish; chiseled, yet soft and boyish when he didn't allow his facial hair to grow in. Which was often. He dressed well, bordering upon expensive and causal, and he was intelligent.

As rumor went, Christina and Raoul were 'a thing' at one point and time, though they ended parting ways when work came between them. Raoul only did his job for the pleasure of it, and it gave him something to do while Christina was a pure workaholic. He had told her more than once that she was going to end up like her father; working himself near to death.

"Yeah," she finally agreed, nodding as she came from her thoughts. "Well. I should get back to work." Patting his shoulder, she rolled her chair back over to her own station, waving to Glover as he left, and began booting up her computer, failing to notice the wallet worn picture that Raoul was looking upon with ill-veiled regret.


	7. Chapter 7

_Big thanks to my beta aka the Judge, Jury and Executioner of chapters,and a thanks as well to my readers._

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I'm dangerous, I'm a dying breed  
Poisonous like a centipede  
I'm capable of the foulest deed  
Dangerous at night  
I'm dangerous like a razorback  
Deadly like a heart attack  
Well, I don't bend and I don't crack  
Dangerous tonight  
**Alice Cooper, "Dangerous Tonight"**_

Sixty-five down, six letters.

'Nymph, in thy ------s be all my sins remember'd.'

"Orisin," I scratch out upon the newspaper, then turn it beneath the light to be able to read the next clue of the puzzle. It is a way to ease the nerves, clear the mind, and most of all pass the time.

I sit just outside of the Lazarus Theater, aptly named due to its resurrection a few months back. Its scattered lights dot along the car's window in a mockery of years long past. To look upon the building was to be transported back to the forties when Cary Grant was heating the knickers of many a girl with his dashing good looks and his suave, sophisticated screen personality.

It is no surprise that the theater plays Noir pictures every weekend, satisfying the elderly and even some youth who have come to garner a taste of the classical even if it is digitally altered for a crisper sound and picture. _Strangers on a Train_ is the offered visual meal for the evening. Posters in their gaudy colors of overly-bright orange take up several of the windows, further heightening that sense of anachronism.

Sixty-one down, seven letters.

'Romance in a long dress was said to have finished Mozart.'

The laughter of a child too young to be out at this time of night draws my attention, and I lift my eyes from the folded paper to watch her and her mother. Dressed in a red corduroy jumper and matching P.F. Flyer sneakers, the child looks to be no more than four years of age with big, inquisitive eyes and wavy hair the color of a taffy apple. Her mother loads her into the family car and soon it is driving off to their next destination. I watch the vehicle until its break lights become lost among others.

"Salieri," I write, my attention insistently falling back to the newspaper. I tap the pencils eraser against the paper, thumping against the book just below it, then placing it aside along with the puzzle, I arch my back, grimacing at the crack that travels up my spine. I have been hunched there for far too long, but I know that it would be longer still.

The movie still has an hour left.

Hearing movement behind the car I lift a gloved hand, adjusting the review mirror and watch the passing of a couple, speaking heatedly, one of them waving around a cell phone as if it would strengthen her point. As I begin looking away, I catch sight of my eyes, and an amused smile forms. A plain brown, something inconspicuous and easily forgotten should one glance to me. My hair, too, has been changed. Just as plain in its carefully dyed hue. A pitch black that turned out more real than I had assumed it would. It was temporary. There is one thing I could not change. The mask.

With its coloring precisely equaled to the tone of my skin, and made of non-glaring cloth, barely anyone took a second glance.

Looking down to the puzzle, I consider finishing it off, though I decide I want something to do when I get home, even if it'll only take me a few minutes to complete the crossword. Lowering a hand, I tuck my fingers beneath the latch at the side of the seat and pulling it up, I recline back. I might as well relax a bit while I am sitting here.

It has been a month since I decided to go on with this plan. After the phone call, I laid upon my bed, eyes closed, thinking. I have never played this game before, but it had been in my mind more than once. There has to be a pattern, a way to catch her attention. I could leave some sort of calling card behind, but that just was not my style. Any signatures I might have left were only by happenstance. I have to make this obvious, yet obscure, and I have to make sure that she will get the case. After much deliberation, I finally came up with a plan.

It is so simple, it is almost laughable.

The sound of speaking pulls me out of my thoughts, and I glance over, watching as people of all ages filter out of the theater, some still carrying their sodas and boxes of popcorn or Ju Ju Bees. I search over the thinning group as they disperse to their separate cars, and the clunking sound of an engine is the background music to my suddenly fixed gaze. Since making this decision and choosing my first pawn, I have been following him, learning his patterns, and making a plan as to how I would get him alone.

He opens up the door of his car, glancing around slowly and I smile wryly. Do you sense me, then? Like the deer senses the wolf before it makes its attack? Look all you wish, you will not see me, not unless I wish to be seen. Just get into your car and ... yes, that is it.

With a squeak of hinges that desperately need an oiling, the door of the Chevy finally closes, and I wait in muted anticipation for tail lights to flash as the engine is turned over. The glare of white reverse lights cause me to squint, and I pull my head back as if that will ease the sharpness of the sting. It does not wane until the car turns, driving toward the exit of the parking lot. I start up my own car the moment he reaches the street, and keeping my attention split upon where I am driving and the other vehicle, I begin to follow.

Already I can feel the steady thrumming through me; the hum of ardor and a barely-bordering impatience. Had it not been for my unerringly strong will I might have leapt from the car and chased it down by foot.

I keep the car at a moderate pace despite the acceleration of the other, not wishing to draw attention to me by the authorities. With their hidden outposts, one never knows if they will be chasing them down for being just a few miles over the speed limit. Some cops around here are sticklers for upholding the law. Or just pricks. And being pulled over by a rookie with a hard on for an arrest does not appeal to me in the least. Not when I have a job to do.

He makes a right at the next street instead of a left, and for a moment I become leery that he is changing his pattern. This will not deter me, no. It will only be a mild inconvenience. I always have next week. Pulling into a gas station I choose to park in the next door fast-food lot and continue watching his progress as he goes about the unexciting task of refilling his tank. Before too long he is out upon the street and I am a few cars behind.

The restaurant is not full at this time of night, but has enough people and a quiet atmosphere that works in my favor. The waitress greets him with a genuine smile and leads him to a seat he normally occupies. He is a regular, and so he is not given a menu. I smooth my hands over the steering wheel then give a slow squeeze against it._ It is time. _That thought along brings the hunter's rush over me, and climbing out of the car, I carry my paper with me, tucked beneath my arm with the pencil set behind my ear.

"Hi! Welcome to Denny's," the diminutive blond chirps as I enter the building, and I am grateful that the light is at a comfortable, slightly dimmed level that leaves my face – or, to be more precise, the mask – without too much suspicious interest. I give a decidedly charming smile, and nod lightly to her in greeting.

"Table for one?" She begins collecting the menu, not noticing that I was not looking directly at her, but just beyond her shoulder, and I nod again. "Yes, please. Smoking."

She nods this time, flashing another smile I cannot help but see as plastic and leads me to a booth seat that has me looking out upon the street. I take a passing-glance, ensuring that I can also see my quarry as I lower into the burgundy faux-leather of the booth. "Here you go, Sir. Would you like to hear our specials today?" Tugging the pad of paper from her apron after putting the menu down, she pulls her pencil from behind her ear. Think you have enough piercings there, dear?

My eyes wander from the array of silver studs and hoops to meet her own gaze and I shake my head. "No thank you. I pretty much already know what I want." When I press the menu back to her with a glove enveloped palm, she nods, taking it up. "Eggs Benedict with the eggs poached, and hot tea, please."

"Not a problem," she mumbles distractedly while scrawling down my order in a brisk short hand. Putting the paper and pencil back into place, she carries off the menu, undoubtedly to go fetch the cursory glass of water. I find myself relaxing again, or at least taking on the semblance of relaxation as I open up the paper enough to remove the crease from the middle of the puzzle.

A glass of water and two cups of tea later my meal arrives. It is not the prompt service I am expecting, but it does not matter. He is still without his own plate. I thank the woman, who leaves me alone to enjoy my meal, and I cut up the egg and ham topped muffin then start to eat. It is not one of my favorites, though it is small enough where I will not have to leave much behind. It is better than sitting here, drinking only water and tea while working on a crossword puzzle.

As I go through my meal, I glance from the corner of my eyes, watching him as he finally receives his own. With the way he is going through the water and the mugs of coffee, I will not be surprised should he be getting up soon. In fact I am counting on it.

The waitress comes by to see how I am coming along, and with the plate nearly emptied, I decide to pay for my check and order coffee; the ultimate drink for loitering. When she returns with the cup, placing a few creamers nearby, I notice him raising without his jacket and stretching. Giving her a thanks, I drink down a slow sip, careful of the heat, and watch her as she goes. He is entering the bathroom, and the moment grips me. I pull out of my seat, calmly collecting my things and give a soft nod as well as a smile to a woman that glances my way.

As I follow the path to the bathroom, I let my eyes travel, taking in the different people I pass. The number is few. They seem too enthralled with their own meals or conversations to even bother paying attention to me, and once I reach the bathroom I step inside, grazing leather covered fingers against the panel. No lock. Not without a key. I had predicted this; since the rising number of births, suicides, and sexual encounters in public bathrooms, they rarely had them. This will make things chancy, though if I am swift enough I will not have to worry.

He glances back to me, then turns around to do just as almost every man does while standing before the commode; he raises his eyes to where the wall joins the ceiling, as if watching himself in his relief would stop him all together. Trust me, I know. I do the same. As I pass the sinks, I place the newspaper upon one of them, but not before moving the small, slender tube hidden among its pages. My steps are silent as I approach his back, twisting the tube between my fingers, and stretching the line of fine wire between the handle's ends.

I have the good grace to wait until he shakes and tucks himself away before I strike.

There is a split moment between the time the garrote is unsheathed and employed that I am infused with a surge of adrenaline that sends my senses reeling. My heart thunders in my ears, time stops, and sometimes I believe that my breath does too, as if it will alert my quarry that he is only a second away from meeting an inescapable fate. I have been struggled with, fought, but all it does is delay the inevitable, and tighten my grip.

I shove him forward against the front of the urinal with a force that threatens to break a rib, and it leaves him breathless. Like a rider tightening a saddle belt around an equine, that is the chance I take to twist the garrote, further cutting off his air supply, and he wriggles like a fish on a hook. He claws at the wire, successfully raking his blunt nails against his own skin, doing nothing in the way of removing the thin line that is cutting a divot into his throat. I plant my elbows into the backs of his shoulders, pulling firmly enough that I am sure if I focused – and if he was not struggling – I would be able to feel his heartbeat thrumming through the wire. He tries to cry out, to no avail, his voice is as trapped as he is.

By time instinct thinks to switch from flight to fight, it is too late. His arms are weak in their rise, and my elbows press firmly against them, keeping him from reaching back toward me. He slumps, struggling in a breath, and I grit my teeth, holding on until I feel his body go slack. He is unconscious, I still feel him trying to breathe, then he stops all together. One never to do a half-assed job, I make sure my assumption is correct and keep the hold only a moment longer before I loosen the garrote and step back, letting him sink to the floor, but not without his head connecting solidly to the porcelain.

I grimace. That would have hurt if he was still alive.

The wire is easily re-concealed, and taking up the newspaper again, I exit the bathroom without a glance back. Somehow I manage to keep my breathing steady, even if my heart is still tapping out a rapport in my ears and throat. My body hums with energy, high on a natural drug I would never wish to rid of. Casting a charming smile to the waitress at the front desk I approach, money already in hand.

"Enjoy your meal, Sir?" she questions while bringing up my order on the screen, already typing out the amount I have in hand.

"Immensely, thank you." While I could have simply left the money at my table, I did not wish for her to come chase me down and inquire where the payment was without looking upon the table itself. I hand her the money and give her a wink before I start off for the door. "Keep the change."

"Oh, thanks! Have a great night, Sir." Polite girl. Maybe I will come back again, though I doubt it. The eggs were more hard-boiled than poached. I am picky about my meals, to say the least.

There are no sounds of alarm when I exit the restaurant, nor when I climb into my car, and if there are when I start up the engine, I cannot say that I hear them. It does not matter, I am out of the parking lot and upon the street less than a minute later. My fingers are kneading against the steering wheel as I drive, and I look forward to getting home where I will submerge myself in first a scalding bath then some music. It is true that it soothes the savage beast.

Now it truly starts. While I have made my decision weeks ago, this is really the beginning. I will test her, see if she is truly as good as others believe her to be. How long will it take before she comes to realize that there is a serial killer on the loose? The third, perhaps the fourth? Most of all, how long will it take before she realizes that this killer is trying to attract her attention? I look forward to this game. It not only tests her but myself. Am I still as good as I used to be in the hunt, in escaping notice, and most of all...escaping conviction?

As I had told myself before, time will tell. I will draw this game out as long as I can. After all, I would not want it to end too soon.


	8. Chapter 8

Hectic, hectic, hectic.

Looks like I'm heading away from home for a bit, so the next update might not be showing up until next month. As if a month's wait is anything different. :sheepish grin: I really need to keep up my resolution to update more often.

Kudos goes to my editors and my readers. Thank you for encouraging me to continue.

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_

_There'll be times  
When my crimes  
Will seem almost unforgivable  
I give in to sin  
Because you have to make this life liveable  
_**Depeche Mode, "Strangelove"**

The soft strains of _Je Voudrais_ was gently accompanied by the scratching of a pencil upon the once clean sheet of notebook paper as notations were taken down, observations made. Pausing only long enough for a strong-fingered hand to gather the nearby cup of coffee and a sip to be taken, the pencil was returned to the paper, adding a final notation before he leaned back, tucking his fingers beneath his glasses, and rubbed his eyes with the pads of middle finger and thumb.

The Crypt was quiet at this time of night. With Melissa out having 'lunch' with Christina, and Glover processing a set of partial prints that had been found upon their last cadaver, Raoul was basically alone. Resting back in the arched spine of the chair, he laced his fingers and placed them against his stomach, tilted back his head and looked up at the ceiling, slowly turning the rolling chair from side to side.

Soft humming accompanied the music as he fell into his thoughts; not about work, or about the bills he was to pay come tomorrow morning, but what he truly shouldn't be thinking of. Christina. He knew well that trying to pursue anything with her would only lead to disappointment, but that did not stop him from wanting to. The woman was far too involved with her work to notice him any longer.

They had been a couple once, before each of them went their own ways with college, which drove them to opposite sides of the continent. Phone calls turned into letters, and letters into silence as they moved on to get their degrees. There was no formal parting, though when he had managed to get himself hired at the same station, he could tell that everything had changed. Christina was no longer the woman he had known.

Just as she had told him he was no longer the man _she _had known.

Time and distance changes people, it was inevitable, though he often wished that weren't so.

Sighing faintly, he closed his eyes, subjecting himself to memories that were better left forgotten. His path of masochism didn't last very long, for he was soon distracted from his thoughts by the placement of a hand upon his shoulder. He jolted with a start, and blinked at the one behind him before frowning. He sat up, pushing his fingers through his hair and adjusted his glasses.

"That wasn't exactly the welcome I was expecting..."

"Evening, Charlotte."

She stepped around his side and slid to a sit upon the table, tilting her head softly while crossing her arms beneath her breasts. Another flicker of a frown passed and he reached over, taking a hold of the folder she was sitting upon to weasel it from beneath her. She had the good grace to lift slightly, only to sit down again. "How've you been?"

"I doubt you came by for small talk," he commented matter-of-factly as he collected himself from the chair. Tossing the folder to lay upon his notebook, he slid his hands into his pockets, looking over to her and finally answered her question with a noncommital shrug. Undaunted by his comment, she continued on as if he hadn't said anything to begin with.

"That's good. Look, I'll need the files processed for the Jane Doe sometime soon, think you can do that?" Crossing her legs, she cupped her fingers against her knee, tapping her tented fingers together and issuing a sweet smile. "It would be a big favor to me."

"Yeah...I'll, uh, see about that. I still have to finish up the prints for Roberts; Glover's working on the computer now." He shrugged, lifting a hand to press his glasses up with a fingertip. "I'll get a hold of you when I'm done, all right?"

She nodded and slipped from the table, brushing out a nonexistent wrinkle from her clothing. Just when he thought that she was going to make her way out of his office, she stepped closer to him and brushed her fingers over his lab jacket. Ignoring the stiffening of his spine, she fingered his tie and straightened it. "We should have lunch sometime. You're always stuck down here; it's no wonder why your humor is so dry. Surrounded by dead bodies."

_Corpses make for good company more than _some _people._ He gently took her hand and removed it from his tie. _Subtle much? _"Maybe. I have a lot of work to do, though. The death rate always seems to elevate this time of year." Shrugging, he glanced over at the soft clearing of a throat and released Charlotte's hand as if it had burned him.

"Done with the computer," Glover murmured, his ink-colored eyes glancing from Raoul to the woman standing decidedly close to him, then back. "It's all set for you to use. I'm going to run these up to Roberts then head out to get something to eat. Want something?"

Raoul shook his head softly, stepping away from Charlotte to collect the already open file from his desk. "No, I'm fine. Thanks anyway, Will." Nodding, and giving a last curious glance between the two, Glover wandered away from the alcove and through the lab.

"I think he's suspecting something," Charlotte teased gently, turning back to Raoul as he picked up another folder, then his notebook. He paused and looked over her while doubling the already creased notebook and sliding it into the pocket of his lab coat. After picking up his pencil and tucking it behind an ear, he made his way to the next alcove.

"There's nothing to suspect."

"Jesus, Raoul," she scowled, following behind him, "lighten up. It's called a joke. You know? 'Ha ha'? I swear, you're just as dead as they are." She motioned in a frustrated gesture toward the row of cadaver refrigerators. "Besides, it wouldn't be too far off if something was su–"

He turned to her swiftly, lowering his voice in a harsh whisper while holding up a single finger. "It was _one _time, Charlotte. One! That's it. No more; none, _nada, dore mo, aucun_, _keine, nessun_. Is that enough, or do you need more languages to get it through your head that I regret what I did!"

Even as he turned back around to go into the room, she remained standing there, giving him a most quizzical look. "When did you learn Japanese?"

Instead of following him completely inside, she lingered at the threshold, leaning her shoulder on the frame of the door. "Look, I'm not as dense as you think I am. You used me. I understood this a long time ago." Pushing away, she turned around with a glance over her shoulder. "I should've known then. Good night, Raoul."

_Ladies and gentlemen, pack your bags. We're going on a guilt trip! _Frowning softly at her back, he watched her walk off, then turned to the computer to sit down. He tried to focus upon his work, but found it hard to do so. _At least_, he mused inwardly, _it'll stall the time until I'll have to talk to her again. _

Charlotte had few qualms about hanging that time over his head. In her own little way it was to teach him a lesson. She passed through the Crypt's doors and glanced behind her before continuing on. Passing by the security guard with a smile and a wave, she continued on until she entered the lax bustle of her work place.

"Looks like there's been a recent homicide." Chang glanced up from his desk when she went to her own, then tapped a notepad where the information was written down. Curiously, Charlotte went over to pick it up.

"4020 City Ave. In a Denny's?"

He nodded. "Yup. Not too far from here." Tucking a loose bit of stygian black behind an ear, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, why aren't we going?"

"Everyone else had a case, and some people were missing." He gave her a pointed glance, to which she narrowed her eyes, but didn't say anything. "So he gave it to Daniels."

"I thought she was out at lunch."

"Just got back. Her and someone from Forensics are on the way there now."

"Son of a...mmf!" Tossing the notebook upon the desk, she stalked to her own and settled in a heavy sit, cursing inwardly. He lifted a brow slowly, watching the storm as it raged. "Uh, problem?"

"That's going to be her hundredth case. Yes, problem. She gets a promotion if she solves it."

He didn't know if he should be amused or disappointed that she saw her job that way; as a race or a contest. "It isn't exactly a competition you know..." Her look was enough to stop his words in their tracks.

"What would _you _know, rookie?"

* * *

"All right. I called the field team." Melissa snapped her phone closed and tucked it away into her jacket. Pulling her plaits back away from her face, she bound them at the nape of her neck with a hairband and glanced over. "They're on their way." Nodding, Christina waited impatiently at the light, tapping her fingers against the wheel, and her friend couldn't help but smile with amusement.

"Easy, Tiger. The body isn't going anywhere."

Realizing what she was doing, Christina gave her a sheepish grin and smoothed her hands against the leather of the wheel, shrugging. "You know how I get before a new case; hyped up and all. These things make me feel like a big kid, y'know? It's like putting a puzzle together; sometimes you figure them out easily, other times you're missing a piece or two."

"Or someone is keeping it from you," Melissa added, bringing a scowl to the other woman's lips.

"Don't remind me."

"You should've gotten her fired. I would've." Shrugging, Melissa turned her eyes to the window, watching the scenery pass once the car started driving again.

"Yeah, well..." Trailing off as they reached the restaurant, she pulled into the parking lot and meandered her way between police and civilian cars. _Odd, must have been some bigwig for there to be more than one cop car. _Taking up one of many empty spots, she shut off the car and reached back to grab her jacket as well as the holster within it, while Melissa climbed from the car, case in hand.

"I'll meet you inside," she stated before shutting the door behind her and trotting off to the building. A flash of her marked jacket and badge, and she was heading inside. After fastening the holster and climbing out of the car, Christina was soon following the same path, one dirty-blonde brow lifting curiously at the press van not too far from the entrance. "Huh..."

Gathering her hair back into a messy bun and tossing a smile to the guarding officers, she showed them her badge as well and stepped inside the usually pleasant environment. Greeted by the subtle scent of pancakes and coffee, she headed off to the bathroom and paused just outside of its entrance.

"Are you the first on the scene?" she questioned the man standing there, and looked from the bathroom to him. He shook his head, motioning over to the two but a few yards away. "Montgomery and Richards got the call first. They have the waitress that found him in custody for questioning."

Her lips twitched in a smile. Frederick and Andrew were usually the first ones to take a call. They enjoyed their work as much as she enjoyed her own, regardless of them being – as they would call themselves – 'simple two-bit street cops'. They were one of the best teams in the office, both of which were working their way into the Strike Team. The Strike Team were the ones that personally went out to make the arrests on big-time drug dealers and those with darker connections. A dangerous change of occupation, to be sure; more than one cop who knew what they were getting into had lost his life on that team.

"All right, thanks." After giving him a nod, she turned to make her way over to the two officers and a pretty shaken young woman. By the sight of the nearby ashtray, she was on her sixth cigarette; the fifth snuffed, but still smoking. "Evening fellas. Mind if I talk to her for a bit?" She glanced to the duo who were often attached by the hip. By their closeness one would almost think them brothers...or lovers, but no one bothered to ask about the latter. Andrew Montgomery wasn't exactly a small guy, or one to be trifled with.

But he was a big, green-eyed puppy dog until someone pissed him off. "Hey, Daniels," Andrew greeted with a warm smile, "no, sure, go ahead. Don't mind in the least." As he moved off, his partner followed, giving the two women room for a bit of 'privacy.'

She regarded the two a moment, amused at their tandem movements. They'd been partners for many, many years now; and to think…They didn't like each other at first. Like Raoul, Frederick Richards came from a rich family and chose an occupation that wasn't suited to his father's expectations. It took a while for him to show his partner that he wasn't some spoiled brat that was just doing this job as a 'side thing' and since then they had been inseparable.

"Evening, Ma'am. Christina Daniels," she offered, lowering to a sit nearby. "I need to ask you a few questions as to what you might recall of the night; who might have left before you found the victim, what time you found him, things of that nature."

The woman nodded, her fingers nervously fiddling with one of many piercings in her earlobe, and with a trembling hand, she brought the Marlboro to her lips for a long drag. After exhaling the smoke, she sighed. "I already told the others, but okay."

Catching movement from the corner of her eyes, Christina glanced over, lifting a brow at Melissa's expression as she approached. Giving an apologetic smile to the waitress, the dark-skinned woman turned her attention to the detective. "Chris, got a minute?"

"...Yeah, I do." It wasn't normal for her to be interrupted, and so she took the hint that this was something she had to see. Moving away from the waitress, she prepared herself for the worst and followed Melissa into the bathroom. Almost immediately the detective gave a sigh of relief; the body was whole and there was no blood, save for a bit at the corner of the urinal's bowl.

"What's the problem?"

Melissa answered with a jerk of her chin, directing her over to the deceased, and Christina shrugged before heading over to see what all the fuss was about. Crouching down next to the body, she dipped her head, tilting it to the side to get a look at his face. Even with the stain of blood along his brow and against his features, she recognized him immediately.

"Is it…?" Melissa questioned quietly.

Christina exhaled slowly.

"Yeah…"

It was Joseph Burke; the lawyer who had taken the defense of the accused in the James case.

"Looks like someone didn't like the verdict."


	9. Chapter 9

_Sure has been a long time hasn't it, heh? Welp, back from my vaction and returning to the writing fold, as much as I can anyway. Had to take a bit of a break. _

Special thanks to Mandy the O, and to my editors as well.

_Mostof all,thank you to my readers for being so incredibly patient._

_

* * *

Seasons will go, be grateful.  
So, I say goodnight, for you.  
Cause you want it that way  
I can see, what you mean to me now.  
So, I'm waiting now, I'm waiting now.  
**A Thorn For Every Heart, "Pretty When You Cry"**_

"Thank you for coming, Miss Reynolds. Sorry I hadn't the chance to speak to you at the restaurant."The interrogation room was quiet – too quiet – and it obviously made Jessie very nervous. Just like she had been doing in Denny's, she was again fiddling with the several bits of metal that were set in the lobe of her ear. Her multicolored acrylic nails were just as gaudy as the rest of her clothing. Christina couldn't help but compare her to a Pablo Picasso painting where colors and designs were splashed here and there.

Either that, or a dancer from an 80's Madonna video.

The detective did her best with ignoring the steady_ click-click-clack_ of the nails to sterling silver as she pulled out a seat and settled down into the worn leather. Jessie only nodded, staring at the mirror lining one wall. Finally she pointed one mint-colored nail.

"Do we have to stay in this room? That," she indicated with a poke toward the large reflective glass, "is making me nervous."

_I don't think that's the only thing giving you the tics, honey,_ Christina thought as she watched her and her constant shifting. The girl was jonesing. Twin golden-brown brows furrowed slightly._ So young..._ Shaking her head softly, she turned off her compassion and focused more upon work. Compassion often made things more difficult.

"No worries, Miss Reynolds. There's no one in there. It's only you and I," she responded honestly with a genuine smile. "We could move to another room if you like?"

Long, hoop earrings thumped mutedly against the sides of the woman's sleek neck as she shook her head. "No. No, it's cool. And please, call me Jessie. 'Miss Reynolds' makes me feel like my mother or something." She gave a soft chuckle which inspired one from the detective across the table from her.

"All right, Jessie. Now, I'm sure you've been asked these things already, but I haven't heard them yet. I'd rather trust my own ears instead of the notes the officers take. Do you mind if I record?" Shrugging off her jacket and letting it rest listlessly against the back of the chair, she began fishing out the small pocket recorder and placed it upon the table.

Jessie eyed it with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "Don't I need a lawyer or something for you to do that?"

"No, but you can always summon for one should that be your wish." _Compromise with the interrogated, make them feel comfortable and be unthreatening. All will go well. _That philosophy worked with certain people, and Jessie was one of them. Christina curled her fingers around the recorder again and began to slide it back, but paused at the shake of the woman's head.

"I don't care. I don't have anything to hide. I just want to get this over with." Lifting a hand to rub the back of her neck, all of her silver bangles went shimmering down toward her elbow, gently chiming against one another as she kneaded.

"Understandable." Nodding once and pressing the button to begin recording, she sat back again, getting as comfortable as she could. "Ready?"

Pulling in a slow breath and huffing it out sharply to get a bit of dyed black hair from her face, Jessie nodded, weakly smiling to Christina.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

* * *

It was conclusive.

No one knew, or saw, a damn thing that could prove useful. In a normal restaurant setting this would have been unbelievable. But Denny's in the wee hours of the morning was hardly a "normal" setting; there were few people, and those who tended to be there were often distracted by their respective meals, or company. It felt like another one of those dead end cases, but that didn't deter Christina in the least.

If anything it made her look forward to finding out more about this case.

Tucking back a bit of hair that slipped forward, she failed to notice the stripe of ink her pen had left upon her skin and returned to her writing. She also failed to notice the well dressed man standing in her doorway, his lab coat over his arm.

She always became so engrossed in her work, and Raoul always found her concentration to be endearing, if not a little annoying. More than once he had to call her name several times just to get her attention, and even when he had it, it wasn't guaranteed that he had it completely. Her mind could always be straying off to whatever case she was working on. _It wasn't always like this... _

A solid knock on the doorframe had her glance up, and she smiled softly. "Evening. What's up?"

Shrugging, he stepped further into the office, glancing over the walls as if he hadn't seen them before. He set the powder blue coat over his shoulder and tucked his hands into his pockets, fiddling with the keys that were in one. "Nothing. Just going on my break and...well...I wanted to know if you wanted to join me. I figured what with the way your nose was stuck in your notes, that you haven't taken yours yet."

Her smile turned more into a good-natured smirk. "Am I so transparent?"

"Like glass," he stated with a laugh.

She looked away from him, her eyes falling upon the scattered papers upon her desk. _Well, I do need a break. These lines are beginning to blur. _Pulling the papers together, she piled them off to one corner of her desk then turned to her computer to start powering it down. "All right, you talked me into it. Where to?" Snatching up her pager she clipped it to her belt, pressed up to a stand and collected her jacket.

Giving a glance to his watch, he nodded. "Well, we have an hour. I know this place not too far from here that's still open." He turned, making his way out of the door and looked over his shoulder briefly as Christina locked up her office.

"Anything's better than McDonalds or, God forbid, Denny's."

* * *

Hook, Line & Sinker didn't look like much from the outside; small and nestled between two others, one could walk right by it should they happen to blink. From the shingles down to the anchor-and-lifesaver shaped sign, it could've been mistaken for a bait shop if it wasn't in the middle of the city. 

It didn't seem like a place where Raoul would go. Son to the late mayor and business man Martin Chavez and brother to the affluent Phillip – who had taken over the company once their father had passed – one would almost expect him to choose some classy restaurant, or at least a place that didn't look rundown. She bit the bullet and trusted his decision, even if she did give the hole-in-the-wall a dubious regard.

"Best seafood, huh?" She climbed out of his car, feeling a bit overdressed, and waited for him at the curb, before crossing the street to get to the eatery.

His grin was wide as he held open the door for her by the shanty rope handle. "Would I lie to you about food? Come on now." Bowing her through, he called out a greeting to the passing owner who knew him and his appetite for the blue crab cakes. They were directed to a small table in the back and he ordered a Coke, a plate of those very crab cakes and whatever Christina wanted, then sat back in the creaking chair.

"How long's it been since we've been out together?" He chuckled softly, remembering when the two of them would be out nearly every Friday night...if work didn't interfere, when he'd been as sure as her feelings for him as his for her. His Coke arrived along with her drink and he wrapped both hands about the glass, considering her over it. "I miss having your attention to myself."

Even though she had ordered herself the shrimp platter and agreed with herself that she didn't need any dessert, she continued looking over the menu, inwardly lamenting over the plethora of delicious choices that would go straight to her hips. Blindly reaching for her Sprite, she paused, giving a quiet smile, then tipped the glass to her lips. After her swallow, she motioned to a small picture on the menu and placed it down. "I think next time I'll try that piña colada shrimp. That looks pretty good."

_Ah...so she isn't going to talk about it_, Raoul thought, a soft laugh in the back of his throat even if he wanted to grunt in frustration. He picked up his soda, took a long drink, then nodded in agreement. "Mmhm, had it before. It's delicious." He wanted to talk about _them_, not food. He missed her, nearly everything about her and in the last few days he had been thinking over their past; what had gone wrong...what could still go right.

"Christina..." He sat forward and reached for her hand. "I'd like to take you out again sometime. Not to a place like this. I know it's a dive, but somewhere nice. A little wine, a little dancing...if you can make the time, that is."

"Why, Mr. Chavez, are you asking me on a date?"

"I think I am, Miss Daniels." His smile was slow, white teeth gleaming as his hand squeezed tighter, affectionately.

She could hardly remember the last time she went on an actual date, and not just an outing with friends. No, she did remember. Years ago, and ironically enough, it was with him. _We were just kids then, and I didn't have this job..._ She sobered to seriousness, offering him another smile, this one fainter than the last.

"I _can't_ make time, Raoul. Not with this new case and all. Maybe when the freshness of it wears down..." She trailed off, glancing to his hand upon her own, then slid it away to take up her glass again. Swirling the contents, she watched the ice clink against the sides before taking a drink.

Her withdrawal had him sighing deeply. Wrapping his own hands back about the glass, he nodded with a faint grunt and took a lengthy swallow of his drink before simply tipping it all the way back and draining the glass. "If it's not one thing, it's another. First school, then job hunting...now the job itself."

"I have to make a living some how." She tried not to sound defensive, or that she was tucking her tail to the conversation. Supporting her comment with a shrug, she brushed off some condensation from the glass with a glide of her thumb.

He glanced up to her, and for a brief moment, dark eyes went introspective as if he was thinking of a long-ago event. "I can be patient, Christina...I don't give up easily. Remember the whale watching trip?"

_Patient?_ She hid a frown. _You know my work always comes first. Why this need for patience and determination all of a sudden. _It wasn't so sudden though, was it? Since their renewed contact with him working at the same station he had been patient in wanting to spend time with her. Perhaps even before then. It was difficult to keep correspondence when she was trying to get her career off the ground, and he was joining the military.

He'd thought of her a great deal while he'd been in the Navy. Though there had been a parade of other women who had both been bedmates and simply friends...he'd always had her there, tucked away at the back of his mind; a pleasant piece of his past that he found himself thinking upon now and again...

Saved by the bell – or in this case a waitress named Maria – she sat back as the woman set her plate down and gave her a quiet thanks. It was only after the waitress delivered Raoul's food, filled their glasses, and wandered off did she answer: "I remember."

* * *

By her lengthened silence over their meal, Raoul had wagered a guess that she'd rather leave the past in the past; he couldn't have been any more correct. A small part of her might have wanted to pursue a returning relationship, but that was snuffed beneath the weight of responsibility and work. She took after her father in that respect. He had been determined to teach her to take care of herself, and that as long as she worked hard with few distractions, she'll never have to be subjected to poverty again. 

Though she might live off of Hot Pockets and Sprite now, it was better than powdered milk and generic corn flakes, mostly because she _chose _to live that way.

Christina was glad to get back to work, and even more so when she finally got home. She'd been thinking about her break and the half-hearted conversation, and it plagued her for the rest of her shift, even during her ride home.

Tossing her keys to the small basket next to the door, she shrugged off her jacket and hung it up with a sigh, then wandered up to her room. Her steps not her own, it was her thoughts that were leading her to the walk-in closet and the box upon the top shelf. Lowering to the floor and placing the box upon her lap, she opened the lid to set it aside. Her fingers reached in, brushing against the worn silk, and she remembered.

For two months she had looked forward to the field trip. Taking after her mother, she had become fascinated with sea life, especially orcas. When she heard that the school was selling things to raise funds for the trip, she had her father speak to everyone he knew at work, and even brought a few of the catalogues with him for his fellow employees to flip through. How she wished he could go with her, but she knew he had to work; he'd already missed too many days due to his illness.

She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply, indulging in the salty scent of sea air that her memory provided. She remembered standing upon the deck, watching the waters as they roiled around them, the gentle wind causing white crests to form. Then she heard it, the call that a herd was seen near the bow, and without regard to her safety she rushed in that direction.

While her feet were steady and sure, a gift her mother had given her when she was still a child wasn't, and the length of silk went fluttering from her shoulder, tumbling across the deck and toward the ship's edge, precariously tangling on one of the bars. If it hadn't been for the hand that snatched it in mid flight, its owner nearly falling over the railing, the scarf would've been lost forever.

She couldn't thank him enough, and each time she did, he only gave her a warm smile and said that it was nothing. That was the day she had met Raoul. It wasn't too long before they started dating, and though her friends warned her about dating a junior – she was a freshman at the time – he never proved to be the cad they often mentioned upperclassmen were. His parents didn't enjoy the fact that their son was becoming distracted by a young woman who was beneath their social standing, and thought to put an end to it.

Like most teenagers would, they rebelled against that attempt and often saw each other in secret. It wasn't until he graduated that they managed to get the upper hand and forced him to join the military. There was little she could do but continue with her schooling, and turning her interests to her father's profession. They tried to keep in contact, but with him in boot camp, their letters were few and far between.

When her father was diagnosed with colon cancer, she tried to spend all the time she could with him before he passed on. No matter how many times she told herself that she would be prepared, his death made a great impact on her life; he was all she had left. Raoul was pursuing his own goals, and she believed that she would never see him again. Fate had different ideas, and she was proved wrong during her graduation.

He was a vision to behold standing beneath the Los Perros High School banner; his hat beneath his arm, Service Dress Blues neatly pressed, dark hair cropped close to his scalp and a bright smile upon his lips. She didn't know how long they held to each other, and she wept when he kissed her.

He left two days later when his leave was over, promising never to forget her.

As the years passed and the letters between them became more scarce than before, she knew she had to try to forget him in an attempt to focus more on college. She didn't know what to think when he returned to her out of the blue. They both had moved on with their lives. She still didn't know how to take this change, and his obvious lingering affection for her.

Sighing softly, she closed the box, though paused and removed the scarlet silk from it. Tucking the box away and climbing to her feet, she readied herself for bed, foregoing a shower, for she believed she would end up falling asleep while standing. It could wait until morning. Nestling her face into the kinky fur of her bear after wrapping the scarf around its shoulders, she breathed in slowly, her tired mind catching the faux-traces of salt air.


End file.
